


i am bound by the other side

by cherry_darling



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, major spoilers for A Clash of Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_darling/pseuds/cherry_darling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some day, these knights of summer will learn the true meaning of winter</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am bound by the other side

**Author's Note:**

> the characters etc all belong to george r. r. martin. i am making no profit whatsoever off of this and it was written just for fun.

darling one

i am falling

and the words are gone

you are beyond

(WARPAINT)

 

 

It’s said that the Knight of Flowers went mad when he saw his king’s body, and slew three of Renly’s guards in his wrath...

(GEORGE R. R MARTIN)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Loras had said to Renly once, “we’ve all got it in us and sometimes, a little spills.”

He had been talking about blood, of course.

(Renly always had hated the sight of blood.)

 

 

 

 

 

But first;

Loras arrives at Storm’s End at the age of twelve. It’s a warm, bright day and he has to shield his eyes from the sun with his hand. His new lord’s name is Renly, the brother of the king and Loras’s blood thrums in excitement, his pulse pounding against the thin skin of his wrist, thrilled at the idea of this new adventure and filled with dreams of being a knight. He’s all long legs and golden curls, so in love with his youth, and his smiles come so easily.

Renly’s smiles come easily, too, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth a flash of white against his suntanned face. He says, “You’re my new squire?” and Loras’s voice catches in his throat and he’s unable to speak. He drops to his knee, head bowed and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling or what to say or do.

Renly only laughs and he says, “on your feet, little Tyrell” and Loras complies, squinting against the sun which is suddenly so bright, too bright, and Renly’s smile is wide and white, eyes crinkling at the corners and he laughs again.

“You’ve had a long journey, Loras. You should get some rest.” And he claps Loras on the back, says “to bed with you” laughing still.

The sound rings in Loras’s ears even when he’s tucked up in bed with the covers pulled to his chin.

 

 

 

 

 

It is the height of summer when he arrives at Storm’s End and it will be summer for many years to come and Loras has never known anything but. His world is blue skies and gentle breezes, warm air and flowers and laughter and light; he knows nothing of frost nor of blackened limbs.

He does not yet know winter, does not know loss, does not know sorrow, does not know longing.

(But he will. Oh, but he will.)

 

 

 

 

 

Lord Renly is charming. That is one of the first things Loras realizes.

Lord Renly is charming and Lord Renly is kind and Lord Renly has a quick, sharp mind and his tongue is the same but his smiles are wide and his voice is gentle, soothing. He is skilled with a blade but Loras can tell that he lacks the desire to use it in battle.

He watches Loras often, makes comments and tells him how to stand, where to swipe with his sword and when to flick his wrist but mostly he is silent, just observing, his eyes roaming over Loras's body.

The back of Loras’s neck is hot when Renly’s eyes are upon him and he loses his footing and stumbles a little, flushing when he hears Renly’s laughter behind him.

“You have improved since yesterday,” he calls. “Just work on your footing.” And then he’s gone.

Loras’s face burns all the way to the roots of his curls, the blush creeping to his ears and around to the back of his neck.

 

 

 

 

 

Loras is a fast learner and is soon skilled enough with a sword and a bow and an axe. His maester calls it a preternatural gift but Loras shakes his head, says, “I’m good because I practice.”

The maester hangs up his sword and says “Lord Renly must be proud” and Loras smiles.

He hopes he is.

(Of course he was. He was never anything but.)

 

 

 

 

 

The days pass and suddenly Loras’s ten and fourth name day is upon them, having spent a little under two years at Storm’s End.

Loras thinks, _these are the best days of my life_ and he takes them for granted. He takes it all for granted: the warmth and his youth and grace.

Oh, my sweet summer child, what you’ve left to learn.

 

 

 

 

 

The memories start to blur after this, running together and he can’t separate them:

Loras takes a blow to the shoulder during a tourney and Renly is helping him out of his armor. Renly puts one of his big hands on Loras’s shoulder to stop the bleeding as he reaches for more bandages and Loras reaches up and covers Renly’s hand with his own.

Renly cups Loras’s smooth cheek in his big, dry, warm palm and kisses him and Renly tastes of fruits, of the peaches he's so fond of, and it’s Loras’s first kiss and it’s strange but nice, so he kisses him back. That day was hot and dry and Renly’s tongue is in his mouth and Renly’s oil-slicked fingers are deep inside him, curling just so and Renly’s hot mouth between his shoulder blades, on his belly, between his legs and Renly’s big dry hands on his back and stroking where Loras is the most sensitive, Renly spread out underneath Loras as Loras rides him and always, always Renly’s wide, dazzling smile that he flashes everyone but the ones he saves for Loras are special; the ones when his eyes are dark and hooded and predatory, those are the ones Loras treasures the most.

Loras supposes these events might have happened on different days, but it doesn’t matter; all that matters to him is that Renly is there and Renly’s hands are solid in his own and that at night, Renly presses his face against Loras’s neck and whispers, “I love you.”

In the end, that’s what matters, isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

Loras says, “You would be a wonderful king” and he wonders if Renly believes him.

He wonders if what will happen later is his fault.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sansa Stark has certainly taken a shine to you,” Renly chuckles two days after the tourney when Loras presented her with a red rose.

Loras just snorts and pulls on his boots. “I was under the impression that she was betrothed to your monster of a nephew,” he says, tugging on his shirt. “I pity her,” he adds.

“Just because they’re promised to each other doesn’t mean that her eye can’t wander a little,” Renly reminds him, ignoring the second comment. “Look what happened with Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark.”

“And look at how well that ended for them,” Loras counters, but he’s grinning.

“She’s not the only girl to fix her eye on you.” Renly’s voice is amused, but there’s a hint of something underneath it, a waver and Loras reaches out and takes Renly’s hands in his own. He kisses the older man’s knuckles and says, “I’ve only eyes for you, my love.”

 

 

 

 

 

Their days are still long and warm and happy, blessed summer days. Renly watches Loras at tourneys and practice and they’re drunk on the power of their own youth and love.

The threat of winter doesn’t exist for them.

(Not yet.)

 

 

 

 

 

For a week after Robert’s death, Renly barely utters a word and Loras knows him well enough not to try to force him to; instead, he draws Renly’s bath for him, washes his hair, turns down the covers, holds him close at night.

“I only have one brother now,” Renly murmurs one morning, his face pressed against Loras’s neck, his nose bumping Loras’s ear. He sighs, his breath hot. “It’s funny – I mean, it’s not really, but still – I never really liked Robert. And now he’s gone and I don’t know what to do…”

There is nothing Loras can say, so he just squeezes Renly’s forearm. “I know,” he attempts, and he kisses Renly’s brow and cheeks.

Renly sighs again.

Renly sighs and Renly says, “I want to be king.”

This is the beginning of the end, but of course they do not know this.

They are still so young, so beautiful and so happy.

 

 

 

 

 

Renly weds Margaery Tyrell and declares himself King of the Seven Kingdoms and Loras backs his claim. He’s not afraid, still young and overly confident in himself. He sees war as another tourney to win.

As far as Loras is concerned, this is what they were born to do: Renly was born to be king and Loras was born to fight (and win) for him.

Loras would die for Renly if need be, but that thought hardly occurs to him.

 

 

 

 

 

Renly lives and Renly breathes. The people love Renly; they will swear their allegiance to him, this beautiful, kind, charismatic king and he will be a great ruler. They will love him and he will love them.

Renly lives and breathes and Loras is not far behind.

And Renly dies and then Loras is alone.

 

 

 

 

 

And now we are back –

Renly was scared of blood and Loras was not. Renly was a fighter but Loras was a warrior to the core and Loras was not scared of anything.

Loras was not scared of anything until the night that he found that all of Renly’s had spilled during the night, and flowed all over the ground, deep crimson and almost black, clotted at his throat and his face was white, so white, so scared and suddenly Loras is so afraid of blood that he's petrified and can't speak.

He remembers falling to his knees and putting his bare hands at the gaping wound at his lover’s throat, attempting to stop the bleeding even though there was no blood left, even though he’s already gone and Loras doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to save him because he can’t imagine life without Renly. The thought is unbearable.

He had never imagined Renly to have so much blood, had never realized that his comment about everyone having it and sometimes it spills to come back quite like this. He never thought it would smell like this or that it would soak into Renly’s clothes and the rugs and the grass and ground beneath, soaking into the earth, and he presses his hands tighter to Renly’s throat, a more gruesome mirror of what Renly had done for him at the tourney all those years ago.

When nothing happens and his hands come back dark and wet and Renly is still cold and white on the ground before him, there’s a sound like every blade of grass in the world snapping and he doesn’t know what happens next.

They say he killed two of the Renly’s guard and he doesn’t care; as far as he’s concerned, they got what they deserved and he was just the one to give it to them. He blames the two dead men and he blames Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth and Stannis and mostly Loras blames himself for pushing Renly to stake his claim.

Margaery takes Loras’s hands in hers (Loras’s hands are still coated with Renly’s blood but it’s dried now and flaky, creasing where he clenches his fists and Margaery’s hands are small and white and soft and he wants to squeeze them and never let go) and she says, “Loras” in her small, gentle voice and Loras collapses against her, burying his face in her shoulder and he doesn’t cry because he’s in shock and everything hurts so much.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” he whispers against Margaery’s hair, squeezing his eyes shut and she just strokes his hair and Loras’s head hurts and his heart aches and he never wanted or expected a life without Renly.

His sister just holds him until he can breathe again.

 

 

 

 

 

Loras takes care of Renly’s body, carefully washing away the blood and sewing up the gash in his throat. His eyes burn and his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth. Every so often, he’ll feel at Renly’s wrists for a pulse and he’s not sure what he’s expecting because there’s never anything there, no matter how hard he presses. It’s just cold skin.

Renly was not supposed to die this way, Loras thinks; Renly was supposed to die of old age, a beloved and revered king and all of his people would go into mourning. He was supposed to have a painless death, he was supposed to die with Loras and his children at his side, warm in his bed, not murdered in his tent right before battle.

He buries Renly’s body himself, alone and he doesn’t weep when he does. He doesn’t feel anything, really.

It still hurts to breathe. It hurts to do anything.

He knows what winter means now.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe someday when he is much older and much wiser, he will stop blaming himself for Renly’s death. He knew Renly, he loved Renly and he knew that Renly would have desired the Iron Throne even if Loras hadn’t mentioned it first. He does not think that Renly would have been content with serving another.

(And in time, perhaps he will forgive Renly for leaving him.)

 

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time, there were two young boys who were in love with themselves and their youth and their pride and each other, and one of them was a lord and the other was a knight. They wanted power and they needed each other and in the end, that will be their downfall.

But in the end, does it really matter? They loved each other, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

end.


End file.
